


Treasures

by yhlee (etothey)



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Nicaise Lives, Canon-Typical Sexual Practices, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 06:51:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8391508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etothey/pseuds/yhlee
Summary: An unfortunate coincidence proves to be Nicaise's saving.Thanks to bookwyrm for the beta.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afewreelthoughts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afewreelthoughts/gifts).



> Nicaise's canonical status as a pet is referred to, but there is no actual sex in this story.

The day it happened, Nicaise made the usual morning preparations.

When he first came to the court at Arles, he knew only that pets must prepare themselves to be exquisite, like unfurled flowers. That he would become expert in the application of paint, at tying and untying laces, at choosing the jewelry that would complement his coloring. The slender man who had cleaned him up for the palace and taught him the rudiments of comportment had told him he must pay close attention to his betters. He took the words to heart, even in the early days, when the Regent lavished sweetmeats and caresses and books on him. Only later did he learn the significance of the books.

Nicaise had learned the lessons well. Today he stepped out of the fragrant bath and stood still while the servants dried him with heated towels. The scents of jasmine and plumeria would linger on his skin for hours. _Your mouth is like a flower bud,_ the Regent had said once, when no one was around to hear. As if everyone didn't _know_ , or anyone cared.

He drew out the razor and its strop from the jewelry box where he had once kept a certain sapphire earring. The Regent had given him pearls, lapis lazuli, black opals winking with blue and red fire. But the razor was his greatest treasure. He'd stolen it from the Regent well before it became necessary, and let a servant take the blame.

Nicaise sharpened the blade. Then he shaved, slowly, carefully, in all the body's betraying places. Scarcely any stubble had grown in a day's time. But the Regent noticed details. It was one of the first things Nicaise had learned about him--and from him.

He dressed himself in clothes fine enough for an aristocrat, dyed the exact blue of his eyes, rich with embroidery in silver thread. The price of a bolt of such cloth could have fed his family for a year. He laced his shirt and jacket with ease. In the early days, once he understood what the Regent required of him, he stayed up late at night with clothes filched from people too busy coupling to keep track of them. He had slung a shirt over the back of a chair, practiced until he could do and undo the laces with his right hand, or with his left, or with his mouth alone. He was going to be _perfect_.

Except even perfection could not slow time.

Next came the paint. Nicaise used a mirror for this, although by now he could have closed his eyes and highlighted the contours of his face by rote. He kept the shimmering paints sorted by hue. One by one he unscrewed the pots of paint and applied them, exaggerating some curves and downplaying others to create the illusion of greater youth. When he had finished, he outlined his eyes with a brush, applying the dark brown shade to make them appear larger.

Privately, the Regent liked him best unadorned. But he allowed Nicaise a certain amount of leeway, and Nicaise took advantage of it. He could see the changes coming on him day by day, inexorable. His cheeks were no longer as full, his eyes no longer as wide. And he had no intention of being discarded to scratch out a living as a common whore.

Finally, Nicaise put up his hair in the net of pearls. He had never been to the sea, but he dreamed of it sometimes. A star-flash of gulls, the wine-dark waters. Sometimes the aristocrats of the sea provinces sent gifts to the Regent, paintings or tapestries featuring the strange creatures said to haunt sunken ships. One such painting decorated Nicaise's room. He had asked for it, had been given it. He scarcely looked at it anymore, but he had memorized every brushstroke, every winding of the bordering knotwork.

Prepared at last, Nicaise checked his reflection one last time. He wasn't above listening at doors, and the court had been abuzz with rumors. The Regent tired of his nephew's intransigence. The Regent was going to do what he should have done years ago and declare himself King in Vere. This didn't trouble Nicaise--but he had a favor of his own to ask, this day of all days, and he needed to look his best for it.

Nicaise turned on his heel on the way to the door and paused before a shelf. Fingered the spine of a leather-bound book, a treatise on philosophy. It had belonged to Laurent once. The Regent had presented it to him, years ago.

Beyond the lattices of his window, the sky was blushing like a child. _Time._ He hurried past the threshold to intercept the Regent.

The Regent indulged him tremendously. Their rooms in the palace were not far apart. Slipper-shod, Nicaise caught sight of the Regent's bulky form down the corridor. He lengthened his stride.

The Regent heard his footfalls. Turned around, in no hurry at all, scepter glinting in his hand.

Nicaise smiled the smile he had spent the past three years perfecting. It should have gone as planned. "I wanted to ask--"

He should have been able to get the rest of the sentence out. The one after that as well. _I wanted to ask for your nephew's life. I could devise new torments for him, if you like._ And the unspoken: _Stop thinking about him and think about me._

Laurent was not his friend. But they had an understanding. It would be a shame to surrender that over a matter of mere politics. Besides, it wasn't as if Laurent posed any real threat to the Regent, or he would have proved it by now. Everyone knew that.

Except Nicaise's voice broke on _ask_.

The Regent's brows lifted. His face was smooth. But Nicaise had no doubt that he had heard. The Regent had not been able to disguise the flicker of distaste in his eyes. "Yes, Nicaise?"

Nicaise had always been quick of thought. The recalculation happened between the space of one breath and the next. "Could we go riding this morning?" With a child's artlessness, as if he knew nothing of the planned announcements, the messengers already speeding away from Arles, carrying sealed proclamations in their purses.

The Regent laughed indulgently, then. But his expression had gone distant. Nicaise knew it wasn't just the matter of politics that lay before him. "Later, perhaps. Go amuse yourself. I'm sure you can find something."

Nicaise smiled again, heart thudding too rapidly, and fled.

* * *

Nicaise only lingered in his room long enough to gather necessaries. First he retrieved some papers from where they were hidden in one of Laurent's old geometry books. Then he filled a purse with the best of his jewelry. The stolen razor caught his eye and he snatched that too. A sharp blade might come in handy. Then he strolled down to the kitchens and demanded a picnic from the harried cooks. They glared at him as they packed it, but no one argued. They knew his temper.

It was not going to be a matter of temper anymore.

He wanted to be wrong about his future. He wanted to stay, assured of the Regent's continued regard. He wanted, for once, to have misjudged.

But Nicaise did not believe in taking chances. And if he could no longer rely on the Regent's indulgence, he had to flee to the only safety left. Ironic, considering what "safety" meant these days in Vere.

No one stopped the Regent's pet when he claimed a horse from the stable and haughtily ordered the hostler to fasten the picnic bag to its saddle. He rode out the gate at a trot for as long as he could bear the jolting gait, then slowed to a walk. He didn't look back.

* * *

Nicaise made no effort to disguise himself. It would have been futile. Near Arles, people knew his role: the best protection.

But the first night away, he stopped at the most expensive inn he could locate. The innkeeper eyed him with the speculative expression of one used to dealing with particularly spoiled pets and asked, "How do you intend to pay for this?"

Nicaise was no fool. He pulled the net of seed pearls from his hair and cast it at the man's feet. "If you can lower yourself to pick it up," he said, "it's yours. My master will give me another."

The innkeeper stooped to pick it up.

Nicaise demanded a bath and scrubbed off every last trace of the gilt paint, the perfumes, the shimmering colors. He hadn't brought any of them with him. He wouldn't need them where he was going.

Word came swiftly of the new King in Vere. No one came to retrieve Nicaise. He choked back his disappointment. He had been right after all.

Still, this meant the King in Vere did not count him a threat. Nicaise intended to prove him wrong--and Govart's papers gave him the means.

* * *

After four interminable days, Nicaise attached himself to a merchant caravan heading south. He could afford no mistake in his selection. He required someone who could offer him protection, who would accept his quite generous payment without being tempted to steal it, who would take him closer to the traitor Prince.

The merchant's name was Dagny. She was an older woman with a no-nonsense manner, and she clearly thought little of Nicaise. But she also met his criteria. And she didn't ask inconvenient questions about parents or masters or where he had obtained his collection of jewelry. In all probability, she had dealt with other ex-pets in the past, their contracts expired, making their way in the world with the baubles given them by masters who had since lost interest. He didn't need her to _like_ him.

Before they departed, Dagny told him, grudgingly, to buy a hat and spare clothes. He picked out shirts and breeches larger than he was accustomed to wearing. It would be a terrible time for a growth spurt, and the clothes might have to last him a while.

The days of travel southward settled into a routine. He'd always hated wearing hats in the past because they mussed his hair. Now, however, he rode in the open alongside the wagons, and a few tangles more or less in his curls. The sun and wind roughened his skin. It terrified him.

 _The traitor Prince holds Ravenel now,_ the rumors said. _The traitor Prince scorns his uncle._ Everyone anticipated civil war in Vere. It was the Prince's fault for getting in bed with the Akielons.

Nicaise, who had an excellent idea of the Prince's opinions about Akielons, held his tongue. It was not just self-preservation. His voice continued to deepen. He loathed the sound of it.

Nevertheless, it was the only voice he had. He could read and write, but refusing to speak forever would be ridiculous. On the last day, when they came as near to Ravenel as Dagny would risk, he went to her wagon and said, "I part from you here."

Dagny looked him in the eyes. She did not ask where he was going. Only: "I will buy the rest of your jewelry."

Nicaise looked at her, weighing her intentions. It occurred to him that he should have sold the jewelry earlier, nearer to Arles. Too late now. Canny of her; he had always admired cleverness.

"Coin will do you more good than the rest of the trinkets you must have stashed about your person."

She didn't need to convince him of that. "Why?" he asked.

Dagny understood the real question. "It'll be less difficult fencing your bagatelles somewhere that people won't recognize them. And you'll have trouble aplenty where you're going."

"I would never," Nicaise said, "be less than loyal to Vere's interests."

"It's no business of mine," she said.

She paid almost fair prices for the pieces he offered her.

* * *

The battle between the King's forces and Laurent's had ended by the time Nicaise ran Laurent to ground. More accurately, Laurent's outriders captured Nicaise close to camp. A few of them eyed him appreciatively. Nicaise paid them no heed. Their lieutenant, more practical, bodily removed him from his horse.

"Take me to the Prince," Nicaise said, snagging the horse's stirrup so he could not be manhandled further. He would not be _discarded_ , or passed around like a camp follower, after coming this far. The horse, unimpressed by this, shifted restlessly and backed up, almost stepping on one soldier's foot.

The lieutenant hauled him away and looked down his nose at Nicaise. "You're a little young to be mixed up in this. And I would have remembered if someone with eyes like yours had been involved in the fighting." He did not say: _I doubt you could lift a sword._

No one in the Regent's court had patronized him like this. "I have something that belongs to the Prince. He will find it useful. And he has something of mine. I want to make an exchange."

The lieutenant's brows arched. "More like you're someone's pet trying to play soldier."

 _You have no idea,_ Nicaise thought. "The Prince will not," he said, "be pleased that you have kept me waiting. And I have a sapphire earring to retrieve from him. Tell him that. Those exact words."

"The Prince is in a good mood," said a soldier, not the one who was wrestling with the horse. "We might survive interrupting him on the say-so of a boy."

"Maybe you should offer him the boy," said another. "Cold as he is, even he might want to celebrate the victory."

The lieutenant snorted. "Guillaume, I don't care what you do with him, just get him out of the way. That medical detail won't take care of itself."

Guillaume grabbed Nicaise's shoulder when Nicaise dug his heels in. "Don't be like that," he said. "Boy your age needs to eat up, and you can make yourself useful washing clothes or the like."

Nicaise had not the slightest interest in washing other people's clothes. He looked up at Guillaume and nodded, smiling as sweetly as he knew how. Guillaume's grip slackened. Nicaise wrenched himself free and bolted past the horses, past the busy soldiers. Behind him he heard Guillaume swearing.

Nicaise's nimbleness served him well. He nearly careened into a scowling woman carrying a basket of bread, dodged her, ducked past one set of tents. Guillaume could not keep up. Nicaise sprinted uphill toward the largest tent, above which the Prince's banner flew high and bright.

His luck ran out at the tent. He tried to slip in through the entrance, but one guard tripped him and the other soon had a sword at his back. His breathing came too quick, and he made an effort to breathe shallowly, painfully aware of the blade's tip.

A familiar voice came from within the tent: "If you're going to sport with the camp followers, do it when you're off-duty. The rest of us don't need to know how well you wield your sword." Amused rather than angry.

"I left the Regent," Nicaise gasped. _The Regent._ Not _the King_. A declaration of allegiance. "I have something you want."

For a moment he wasn't sure that Laurent would recognize his voice, given how it had changed. But Laurent had always been observant, and even now, perhaps, he knew Nicaise's characteristic intonations. "Bring him into the tent," Laurent said lazily.

The guards were either familiar with Laurent's tongue or Laurent's temper--they might even trust his judgment. The swordpoint receded. Rough hands jerked Nicaise up, and he stumbled to his feet. He lifted his head proudly as they brought him before the Prince.

Laurent's cool blue gaze was fixed on Nicaise's face. Any hint of compassion in his expression and Nicaise would have spun on his heel, left forever. But he said only, "Tired of my uncle's attentions?"

"I wanted my earring back," Nicaise said. "He didn't have any more sapphires for me."

"I doubt that very much," Laurent said. "I have enough mouths to feed here, you know. And you're not any good with the kinds of swords we use in battle."

"I'm worth more than a company of soldiers," Nicaise said.

"Modest as ever."

Nicaise tossed his head. "I know Govart's secret."

Laurent, like Nicaise, had to have guessed that the Regent's unusually accommodating treatment of Govart had its roots in some bitter secret. Except Laurent didn't know already, couldn't--because if he did, he would have made use of it before now.

The Akielon slave had interrupted Nicaise the night he stole Govart's blackmail papers. Nicaise had held onto them afterward, biding his time. Good luck to balance the bad that had brought him here. Those papers were Nicaise's currency.

Laurent's lip curled--not a sneer, not a smile, but a moment's humor. "Why, did you get him drunk in bed? That wouldn't have been difficult."

"As if I would have needed wine," Nicaise retorted.

The not-smile sharpened. "Because you can get grown men drunk on your kisses?"

"It only works if they're not you."

Laurent laughed soundlessly. "I don't have any sweetmeats, you know."

"If I wanted sweetmeats," Nicaise said scornfully, "I would have stayed with the Regent."

"This is not generally considered to be the winning side, you know. I thought you were better at picking sides than that."

"I'm always on the winning side." Back to the matter of the papers again.

Laurent nodded, eyes glinting. "I'll hear you out."

"Of course you will," Nicaise said.


End file.
